Fiðerslieht Angelcynnes
by ASillyGermaninLatinClass
Summary: Fiðerslieht Angelcynnes - Wings of England (Old English) ... Because I can't write anything original. Essentially, England has wings and because of an unfortunate series of events, France finds out.
1. Prologue -- The Past

England's had wings as long as he can remember, beautiful white wings. At first, he didn't bother to hide them. They were a part of himself, he saw no reason to be ashamed. He vaguely remembered his mother, Britannia, showing him how to care for his wings. She was gone quickly though. One day her comforting presence just left him. She was replaced with Rome when his brothers fled from the advance of the Roman Empire. He began to learn caution from Rome. He learned to avoid people, especially foreigners. To avoid attention. People didn't quite understand his wings, and though they weren't afraid yet, they tended to avoid him. Still, a cape managed to dissuade most questions.

After Rome left his brothers came back. But he found they were not as he had remembered them being. They were aggressive and dismissive, always hungry for war with him. They sought always to push him down. His wings became a prime target for them. They would yank on his wings and pull out feathers. He learned how to hide and how to pick his battles from his brothers. The fay became his constant companions. They taught him magic, defensive magic and offensive magic. But they refused to teach him how to hide his wings. To them, the wings were beautiful and didn't deserve to be hidden. They considered his wings a sign of his power.

When France came, England thought he would be his savior. _His_ angel. France never did see England's wings though. By this time he was too insecure about them to show them to anyone, even his assumed savior. France's protection and company turned out horribly in England's opinion, however. He began to retreat into himself. And so, from France, he learned self-reliance.

As England grew, so did his wings. Eventually, his cloak was no longer enough to hide them. He designed a harness of sorts to keep them pinned to his back under his shirt, so no one would notice. It wasn't comfortable, but it worked. To further protect what had become his secret, he found a memory spell. Thus he managed to ensure that none of his brothers, and the rest of the world, remembered that he had wings.


	2. France

The meeting (held in London this time) had run long. This in and of itself was not unusual, however the length of time was. Usually, the meetings ran long by between 15 minutes to three-quarters of an hour. This meeting went long by three hours. _Three hours_. Oddly enough it wasn't England or France's fault this time. It may or may not have been the fault of a certain American and a certain Russian arguing about _something_. No one really knew what.

France was getting quite bored. After the excitement America and Russia gave, Italy had wanted pasta. Germany, of course, was unable to say no to Italy. They reconvened after Italy had received his dish. France had wanted to complain to England, but England had started fidgeting and glancing at the door about an hour past the projected end time. He also stopped talking to anyone, glowering at anyone who dared try to strike up conversation with him.

Throughout the three hours, Germany had droned on about the economy and politics and … and honestly, France had stopped paying attention. He just looked quietly at England, observing him. England looked up at him a few times, and each time he caught France's eye he blushed and looked down.

"And that concludes this meeting. Any questions?" France glanced up to Germany as he closed the meeting. By the time he had finished his question everyone was already halfway packed. France himself quickly shoved his papers in his briefcase and shrugged on his jacket. England did the same exact thing and was surprisingly the first nation out of the door.

France hurried after him trying to catch up. He hesitated at the door to the street, as it had begun to pour while the meeting was going on and he didn't want his fabulous hair to get drenched. Luckily he was just in time to see England dash to his car and drive off toward his house. France frowned quietly. Usually England stayed behind to argue with him and America. What made today different? Perhaps he had a lady waiting for him at his house. That thought should not have made France as upset as it did.

He glanced behind him at the other nations who were leaving, and then back out into the rain. He had nothing important to do currently. Prussia and Spain would probably want to go to a pub with him but he could always say he was preoccupied. Decision made, he hurried out into the rain to hail a cab. He knew where England's house was, and where he kept the spare key (if necessary).

England had already arrived home by the time France got there. This was not unexpected, as he had left in a hurry. His car was in the driveway, and still warm, when France arrived. France walked up to the front door and rang the doorbell once, before remembering that it had broken and England had never gotten around to fixing it again. (America had offered to fix it, as had Canada, bless their souls). France then knocked sharply on the door. He didn't hear any noise from the inside, so he knocked again after a few minutes. Still, England didn't answer.

"Open the door, Angleterre. I know you're home," called France, slightly concerned.

Still, England didn't answer the door. Frowning, France stepped away from the door and retrieved the spare key from where it was hidden. (A very obvious place, but who is he to judge the quirks of England?). France knocked again at the door before inserting the key into the lock and letting himself in.

What France saw inside made his heart sink for some odd reason. It wasn't like he cared what England did in his free time anyways. England's shoes were shoved haphazardly against the wall in the general vicinity of the shoe rack. Walking forward into the house, France saw England's jacket abandoned on the floor as if it had been thrown down. Continuing on, France discovered England's dress shirt and tie left on the floor in a similar undignified fashion.

This was, of course, completely against England's habits. He believed everything had its place. That he would leave his clothes in such a disruptive place went against everything France knew of him. It was also something England considered French, and thus not proper or suitable for a gentleman.

Unfortunately, France still couldn't find England. He moved upstairs to England's bedroom. In front of the door, he found an oddly shaped harness. Just as he bent to pick it up, the door flew open. England stood in the doorway wearing an old ratty band shirt, that he had gotten at some point in the eighties, over his dress pants.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in my house Frog!" he screeched, "Get out! Get out!"

"Ah, Angleterre, there you are!"

"Yes, here I am. Now get _out_!"

France frowned and moved closer to England, reaching forward to hold his shoulders. "Non. Something was bothering you during the meeting. I would like to know what."

Instead of responding England just shoved France back into the hallway. When France stepped back, England let out a groan of pain and seemed to crumple forward. France practically leaped forward and caught him before he could hit the ground. England tried to struggle out of France's grip, but he refused to let go.

"Angleterre. _England_. You are obviously hurt. Let go of your idiotic pride and let me help you!"

"NO! I can take care of myself perfectly well, thank you very much. Now leave."

France only tightened his grip around England. As he did he felt something odd tied around England's chest.

"Why do you have a belt tied around your chest England?" he asked slowly, "Have you finally lost your mind?"

"None of your business Frog. Leave me alone."

"Non." sniffed France, "I will leave when you tell me why you left your jacket and shirt on the floor downstairs, and why you're now wearing a belt. Around your _chest_."

"No."

"Very well then Angleterre. It is just about 18 o'clock (6 pm). I will make something for the two of us to eat. And if you ever decide to tell me, I shall leave."

That said, France let go of England and strode back towards the kitchen. He was silently praying that England's kitchen had something decent to cook with hidden away somewhere.

France hummed quietly as he moved around England's kitchen. There was surprisingly a decent amount of edible food that could be prepared in the semblance of good food. England's pantry was mostly full of starchy foods and hardy plants. Food that he considered suitable for winter meals. He had decided to make a potato stew with lentils since all the ingredients needed for the recipe were there.

"Et fini!" he exclaimed softly. The stew was nicely cooked and seasoned. The favors balanced right, and the texture was hearty. All in all, it was a very nice dish for the rainy English weather.

Turning the stove off, but leaving the stew in the pot on the burner, he turned and went back to England's room.

He paused at the door to listen for England. He didn't hear anything and decided that England must have fallen asleep while waiting for him to finish making the stew. Quietly he opened the door and stepped into the room. He was so focused on opening the door quietly that he didn't notice England until he was standing in the room.

England had wings. Beautiful, majestic, _big_ white wings.

France let out a small gasp involuntarily. England looked up, and France could see the panic in his eyes. England looked almost like a scared animal, as he had been when they first met. England twisted his wings until they were pressed tightly against his back and began to back away from the door.

France moved forward slowly, trying to seem harmless. As he stepped forward, England stepped back, until England hit the wall and could go no further. France paused just within arms distance. Slowly, so England could see all of his movements, he reached out and gently held England's hands.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked softly.

"Why should I?" snapped England, "What reason do I have to tell anyone that I'm different. That I'm _odd_."

"Angleterre. Your wings are beautiful. And sure, none of the rest of us have wings, but having them isn't bad."

England scoffed and turned away. France reached out and held England's chin, turning his face so they were again looking at each other. England's eyes were filled with tears and no little amount of fear.

"Angleterre. I promise you, I don't mind the wings. I think they're beautiful. If you don't want me to, I won't tell anyone else. But _please_, understand that I do not wish to hurt you. Not now, not ever."

"You promise?"

"Oui. I do."

England pursed his lips and slowly sighed. He leaned forward into France, and slowly unfurled his wings. France smiled quietly and moved back, giving England more room.

"Come, England. I've finished dinner. And it is not the flavorless slop you like to eat. It is actual good food."

England sniffed imperiously, "My food is perfectly fine Frog."

France smiled again and led the way down to the kitchen. He served up two bowls of his stew and spent the entire dinner teasing England about his food. Slowly England relaxed. By the end of dinner, England seemed back to his old sour and argumentative self. After France finished cleaning the dishes and storing the leftover food so England wouldn't starve he began to leave. Just as he had gotten to the front door England hurried up to him.

"You're going?"

"Oui. That's what I promised, wasn't it? That I'd go."

"Yes. If I told you. I didn't tell you, you just saw. Obviously. But I didn't tell you per se."

"You wish for me to stay? Why, who would have thought. Angleterre asking his greatest enemy to stay!"

"You don't have to rub it in France." sniffed England, "You are more than welcome to leave if you so desire."

France grinned, feeling rather joyful at the turn of events. "Very well then, I shall stay. … May I touch them?"

France was pegged with a glare that would have even the bravest shaking at their knees. He didn't move however and stood calmly, waiting for England to decide.

England huffed slightly and brushed past him, closing the door. Completely ignoring France he walked into the living room. France followed quietly, slightly curious as to what he was planning.

France stood at the doorway, watching England sit down on the couch, his wings saying everything his face wasn't. They were fluffed up and tensed in anticipation.

England looked sharply at France, "Well Frog? I haven't got all night."


	3. England

The meeting was held in London, a fact that made England very grateful. There was less of a commute, and it is always comforting to be in your own home. What did not make him grateful was America. While it was common for the meetings to run long, it was not usual for the meetings to go over by three hours. And America had been a bloody fucking idiot and gotten into an argument with Russia about the most ridiculous thing. It started with flowers and migrated to something completely different.

By the time they had been stopped Italy was hanging off Germany and begging for pasta. Germany wisely capitulated to his demands, no one wants to deal with a crying Italy. Unwisely, however, Germany continued the meeting. Even England was aware that they never got anything done at these meetings anyway.

The longer the meeting went the more irritable England became. His wings slowly began to cramp. He had them pretty much tied to his back, so they were flush and essentially invisible. This was, however, very unnatural and very uncomfortable. It would have been fine, except that the meeting went long by _three bloody hours_.

By the end of the first hour, the ache was almost intolerable. He began to unconsciously look toward the door. His mood also soured significantly. As the meeting progressed he began to focus less on what Germany was droning on about and more on suppressing the pain.

Eventually, he focused his glare on his hands, because France was being an utter wanker. He kept staring at him as if he was trying to figure something out. It made him quite mad, but each time he caught France's eye anger brought blood to his face and he had to look away before France got the wrong idea.

Finally, Germany concluded the meeting, probably because he realized that _literally_ no one was paying attention anymore. Before Germany had even finished calling the meeting to a close England had shoved his papers in his briefcase and put on his jacket and was out the door before anyone else. In fact, he moved so quickly he didn't even notice the rain until he was halfway to his car. Even then, the agony of his wings was still the overbearing presence in his mind, and he could barely focus on anything else.

When England got home he stumbled through the door like a drunk man, incredibly undignified, but he was not cognizant enough to care. He kicked his shoes off in the general direction of his shoe rack, before stumbling further into his house. As he made his way to his room he stripped off his jacket, then his tie and shirt, and finally, right before the door to his room, the harness that held his wings in place.

England sighed and practically collapsed in relief when his wings spread. They were pure white, and about 4 meters (13'2") long. Fully extended, he could stand in the middle of his room and easily touch both walls with his wings. The feathers were snarled and weren't laying neatly along the wing. This, however, was their only defect, and easily rectified. England slowly spread his wings to stretch them. He was slowly flapping his wings when he heard a knocking at the door. England didn't answer, hoping against hope that whoever it was would give up and leave him alone.

He was, unfortunately, out of luck. He heard France calling at the door, and then unlocking the door. England scrambled to his closet to find something to hide his wings. He found a belt, and cinched it tight around his wings, pinning them to his back. Glancing at the door, he turned again quickly to find a shirt. Hearing France get closer, England grabbed the first loose shirt he could find. It was a band shirt from the 80's that he didn't even remember he had. It wasn't perfect, but it would work.

England yanked open his bedroom door with the intention of telling France off, but he wasn't expecting to see France already in front of the door. France was picking up his harness that he had left on the ground. England was shocked, and not a little afraid.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing in my house Frog! Get out! Get out!"

France smiled demurely at England as if he were there only to bother him, "Ah, Angleterre, there you are!"

England's shock and fear melted very quickly into annoyance and rage, "Yes here I am. Now get _out_!"

This had the opposite effect of what he was hoping for. France came toward him, holding him in place. If England let himself play pretend, he could imagine it was concern France felt, but he was probably delusional.

"Non." frowned France, "Something was bothering you during the meeting. I would like to know what."

England was getting desperate. His wings, which had just started to regain feeling, were cramping up again. England shoved France off him, intending to shove him all the way to the front door, but was stopped by his wings. They sized up when he pushed France, and he nearly collapsed with the pain.

England was fully expecting to fall onto the floor and was momentarily surprised he didn't hit it. That was until he realized that France had caught him. When this dawned on him, very quickly, he began to struggle his way out of France's grip. Both to prevent any unwanted "love" and to prevent France from discovering his wings.

France, however, refused to let him go, "Angleterre. _England_. You are obviously hurt. Let go of your idiotic pride and let me help you!"

"NO! I can take care of myself perfectly well, thank you very much. Now leave."

Completely contrary to England's wishes, France held on, shifting his grip. England saw the moment France noticed something odd. There was a slight incredulity in France's voice when he said "Why do you have a belt tied around your chest England? Have you finally lost your mind?"

England knew he had to get France out, he was horribly close to finding the secret, and if he did it would be a disaster. Rather defensibly, therefore, England said, "None of your business Frog. Leave me alone."

Once again, France proved his ability to do exactly what he isn't supposed to. "Non. I will leave when you tell me why you left your jacket and shirt on the floor downstairs, and why you're now wearing a belt. Around your _chest_."

"No"

France gives England an odd face, "Very well then Angleterre. It is just about 18 o'clock (6 pm). I will make something for the two of us to eat. And if you ever decide to tell me, I shall leave." He then turned and walked away like the pompous fool he is.

England retreated back into his room once he saw France disappear down the hallway. Checking to make sure that the door was closed he took off his shirt and undid the belt. He let out a sigh as his wings spread. The relief was instant, and he stretched his wings as far as they could reach. After he stretched he flapped them a few times to get most of the kinks out. The gusts of wind they created blew some loose papers he had lying around into the air, where the swirled down onto the floor.

After glancing once more at the door he sat down on the bed to preen. He figured he had some time before France came to gloat about his food. He began on his left wing and slowly cleaned and straightened his feathers. The whole process was very relaxing, and by the time he had finished the left wing he was much calmer than before. He was halfway through preening his right wing when he heard a small gasp from the doorway.

He glanced up quickly and saw France standing just inside his room, looking shocked. England snapped his wings into his back, contorting them so they weren't visible over his shoulders. He shrunk back into the corner, away from France, like a frightened animal. As France moved forward, he moved back until he was trapped against the wall. France carefully reached out and took his hands. England froze, an icy terror at what France might do rushing through his veins.

France, contrary to his expectations, did nothing except take his hands. It was a small form of comfort that confused England.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked France.

England looked at him sharply, "Why should I? What reason do I have to tell anyone that I'm different? That I'm _odd_."

"Angleterre. Your wings are beautiful. And sure, none of the rest of us have wings, but having them isn't bad."

England let out a scoff and turned away from France, trying to show that the conversation was over. Trying to hide his fear and his weakness. He wasn't allowed to, as France took his chin and forced him to look back.

France spoke with an odd intensity, "Angleterre. I promise you, I don't mind the wings. I think they're beautiful. If you don't want me to, I won't tell anyone else. But _please_, understand that I do not wish to hurt you. Not now, not ever."

Carefully, England voiced his distrust, and his hope, "You promise?"

"Oui. I do."

England thought briefly, noting the sincerity in France's eyes. He sighed before deciding to take a risk and leaned forward to unfurl his wings. France kindly moved back to allow him space. This was the first time he had willingly shown another nation his wings.

France smiled, not a pervy smile, but an honest joyful smile. "Come, England." he said, trying to regain normalcy, "I've finished dinner. And it is not the flavorless slop you like to eat. It is actual good food."

England seized this taste of normal, "My food is perfectly fine Frog."

France led him down into the kitchen, where he was given a bowl of stew. Throughout dinner, they kept a cheerful banter. England almost forgot that he was sitting in front of France without a shirt on and his wings out. It was quite a nice feeling, one he could get used to.

Eventually it came to an end. France finished cleaning the kitchen because he refused to let England in there under any circumstances. After that, he went to the hall and gathered his jacket and prepared to leave. England was possessed by a sudden desire to keep France in his home, if only for the night.

He hurried to the hall, watching France prepare to leave, "You're going?"

France looked back softly, "Oui. That's what I promised, wasn't it? That I'd go."

"Yes." he snapped, "If I told you. I didn't tell you, you just saw. Obviously. But I didn't tell you per se."

"You wish for me to stay?" France laughed slightly, incredulous, "Why, who would have thought. Angleterre asking his greatest enemy to stay!"

"You don't have to rub it in France." blushed England, "You are more than welcome to leave if you so desire."

France took in England's face. He smiled again, before replacing his jacket on the hook. "Very well then, I shall stay. … May I touch them?"

England sent France his deadliest glare. One that would have had any country running for their lives. France appeared unaffected, perfectly calm, as he waited for England to answer him. England hesitated briefly before making up his mind.

Decision made, he stepped forward accidentally brushing against France, to close the door before heading back to the living room. He didn't look back to see if France was following, simply assuming he would be.

England sat on the couch in the living room. Memories of everything that had happened to his wings flowed through his mind. But there was also the hope that maybe it wouldn't be that way. This was a hope he didn't entertain often.

Deciding to get on with it, he looked at France, who was still standing in the doorway, "Well Frog? I haven't got all night."

**A/N**

Well. I hope you enjoyed. Please leave reviews and favorites if you did, they do mean a lot to me. I'm not quite sure how it turned out, so constructive criticism is appreciated.


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